


Happy Accident

by sentientspoon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Demon Victor Nikiforov, Insecure Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, also viktor wont be "dark" dark, as per usual my summary is as garbage as i am, lets face it if a rainbow and a baby's laugh had a child it would be him, wow i managed to put a title on this garbage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentientspoon/pseuds/sentientspoon
Summary: That awkward moment when you accidentally summon a demon. That further awkward moment when he's Viktor Nikiforov. And you're naked.





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Right so I'm trying to write something constructive criticism is gold but please remember I'm about as confident as canon Yuuri. Thank you!!

Yuuri Katsuki woke on the first morning in June to the sound of his neighbour's off-key singing and the distinct rasp of curtains being drawn back from the window of the building next door. Yuuri fought the urge to scream as he rolled over to check the time on his phone, the numbers: 6:30am flashing up on his screen. The singing grew only louder as Yuuri swung his feet over the side of his bed, wincing as his injured foot landed a little too hard against the wooden floor. Ordinarily at this hour, Yuuri would have been up and already at the ice rink practicing for the upcoming Grand Prix, but a badly landed triple axel had put an end to those plans for the moment.

Yuuri limped his way to the kitchen with all the elegance of a lame duck. Deciding to fix himself a cup of coffee, he moved to put on the kettle. He knew he had no chances of getting any more sleep while his neighbour continued to mutilate Madonna. A low rumbling filled the kitchen as the kettle boiled and Yuuri picked his phone up off the counter from where he’d discarded it last night. The screen was filled with notifications, mostly from Twitter and Instagram. Despite Yuuri's lack of online presence, fans had somehow heard of his accident and had flooded his pages with well wishes and words of encouragement. The Japanese skater’s face was flushed red when he finished reading and he began to type out a shaky response before hastily deleting it with a shake of his head. He found it rather hard to believe people could truly be supporting someone like him.

A message from Phichit flashed up on the screen as Yuuri scrolled idly through Viktor Nikiforov’s feed, liking his most recent post of him and his dog. Yuuri tapped out a reply as he stirred instant coffee into a mug of boiling water.

 

Phichit:  
Hi, hope you’re feeling better! Get well soon and send a pic when you’re back on the ice!  
\------  
Yuuri:  
Thank you.  
\------

 

Yuuri sighed as his compared his awkward response to Phichit’s effusive well wishes. His words seemed clipped and cold in comparison but he knew Phichit would understand. He put his phone down on the table, draining his mug before leaving it beside the phone. Going out would be a good idea, he figured. He knew himself and the week he was meant to spend healing his leg would only end up hurting his head if he spent it in isolation. Yuuri needed a distraction and with this in mind, he made his way to the shower.

The small square window in Yuuri’s bathroom wasn’t allowing much of the early morning sun to light up the room, leaving the room almost completely dark save for a golden square opposite the window. Yuuri flicked on the lights but as he did so he heard a soft popping sound before shards of broken glass fell to the bathroom floor. Yuuri cursed under his breath as he ran in as much as he could back to the kitchen for his phone and a dustpan. He grabbed his phone and held the unlock button only to be greeted with a flashing notification telling him to charge his phone. Now cursing aloud, he grabbed the scented candle sitting atop the counter and lit it before making his way back to the bathroom. The soft yellow light was of little help in Yuuri’s search for the glass, but his foot had some luck.

Hissing at the sudden sharp pain slicing through his good foot, Yuuri looked down to see a mess of broken glass and blood lit up by the dim light of the candle. Yuuri took a deep breath and fought the urge to just throw himself back in bed and dug the glass out of the heel of his foot, which had landed in the middle of the circle of broken glass. Resolving to later clean up the mess of glass and the blood pooling in the centre, Yuuri stripped and stepped into the shower.

The warm water felt like a blessing after the morning Yuuri’d had and he relished under it. He picked up the shampoo and began to softly sing a lullaby his mother taught him as he washed his dark hair. The song brought to life by Yuuri’s gentle voice began echoing around the bathroom slowly growing louder and louder. Yuuri stopped singing, frightened, but the song continued to reverberate around the bathroom. A bubbling could be heard from the centre of the room where the pool of blood was somehow boiling and an amorphous glowing shape appeared over the pool. Then all was still.  
Yuuri was left standing speechless, staring at the figure of man sitting cross legged in the middle of the room, silent now saving for the whirring of the shower.

“Why is it so dark in here?” the figure asked, with a hint of a Russian accent, and with a snap of it’s fingers the light bulb was replaced and the figure was clear to see. Yuuri now had another reason to be speechless, for sitting cross-legged in the centre of his bathroom was Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri screamed.


	2. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update!! I've finished my exmas so I'm going to try and put up more chapters ASAP. Hope you enjoy!

 

Yuuri stood, frozen, with nothing but a towel wrapped around as he stared at his long-time idol, who was now leaning against the wall watching Yuuri with a curious expression. “So you mean to say you summoned me by accident?” Yuuri nodded in affirmation and started the sudden sharp burst of laughter that came from the silver-haired demon. Yuuri felt a prickling wave of anger as the demon continued to laugh, “What?”                                                                                      

The demon wiped away a stray tear before saying in a voice quivering with mirth: “ You accidentally summoned  a demon in the _shower_ , what’s not funny about that?” Yuuri scowled as Viktor continued laughing, a hand pressed against the wall and bent double. The room was chilly so Yuuri made his way to his room with a huff, wet feet slapping against the floor. He slammed his bedroom door and began towelling himself off, his movements growing frantic as the gravity of his situation set in. He, Katsuki Yuuri had summoned a demon, the only question now was how? 

“It’s simple. You just accidentally followed the ritual to the book, that’s all,” Yuuri screamed again and moved to cover himself as Viktor suddenly appeared in the bedroom. The demon rolled his eyes, “Relax идиот,” and with a teasing grin blooming on his lips he added, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.” Yuuri fought the urge to throw something at the demon, preferably a chair or something else likely to leave a dent in the creature’s smug face. He moved to grab a pair of pants and attempt to pull them on while simultaneously trying to hide himself with the towel. Without much luck. Falling to the floor with a graceless thud, Yuuri could feel himself flushing red for the third time that morning, this time partly from embarrassment and anger at the little chortle from Viktor that his actions derived. Yuuri zipped up the pants and moved to lean against the wall opposite Viktor as nonchalantly as he could manage. Then he asked, trying to assume an air of confidence he did not naturally possess: “What ritual?”      

Viktor's eyes lit up at the Japanese skater’s question and Yuuri noticed slight lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. He suddenly recalled a moment between his mother and sister, an exchanging of words of advice. 

_“Always go for a man with laughter lines,” his mother had said, placing a steady hand on his sister’s shoulder as she helped prepare dinner, “You’ll never have a dull moment with a man with laughter lines.”_

Yuuri looked down as he felt heat collect on his cheeks. Now was not the time for thoughts such as that. “Yuuri are you listening?” Yuuri looked up to see Viktor’s narrowed eyes boring into the top of his head. From what the brunet knew of the five-time world champion, he’d guessed that he wasn’t a man used to being ignored. Rightly so, if the situation was a little different Yuuri would have been hanging onto his every-  
“Yuuri,” The skater allowed his eyes to meet Viktor’s disbelieving ones, “Sorry,” he said with sincerity before asking again: “What ritual?”  
Viktor smiled under the full force of Yuuri’s attention, “It’s simple,” he said and the room seemed to grow a little colder as the demon recited in a sing song voice: _  
_

_A gift and a sacrifice,_  
_To be given by candlelight,_  
_In exchange for the giver’s three desires._  
_But innermost desires can never come cheap._  
_The price will be decided by the buyer._

Yuuri swallowed as the room grew colder still and Viktor seemed to grow bigger. There was a tinge of red surrounding his outline and an unearthly light seemed to emanate from his eyes. The demon took a step closer and Yuuri began to regret backing himself against the wall. Viktor placed a hand against the wall beside Yuuri and leaned in, allowing their gazes to meet and the creature’s breath to tickle Yuuri’s ear and he moved closer still to whisper: “Well then Yuuri,” the brunet shook with fear.

“What are your innermost desires?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always constructive criticism is gold. Also thank you to http://archiveofourown.org/users/ContraryNonsense/pseuds/ContraryNonsense for telling me how to use italics.


	3. Wishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got another chapter up. Yay me.

“For you to _get off_ ,” Viktor took a startled step back at Yuuri’s sudden outburst, leaving him marginally less close to the brunet’s anxious form. “Further,” the demon took another step back and finally Yuuri could breathe. He looked up to find Viktor raising a quizzical brow in his direction, “Did you not want to make a wish?”

Yuuri’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration, “I thought you understood that this,” he gestured wildly at the space in between them, “Was an accident,” he finished as his voice grew higher with every word.

Viktor pouted and moved to step forward once again, only to move further back Yuuri’s expression grew more panicked. “Accident or not you’re going to have to, you summon me, I grant three wishes. That’s the deal, no going back,” Yuuri groaned and slid down the wall, landing on the floor with a thump. The demon, for the first time that morning, looked unsure and inserted a more comforting note into his next few words: “I’ll help you.”

Yuuri looked up in disbelief at Viktor who sat cross-legged opposite him, regarding him with an almost kindly stare. He seemed to be serious and from the sound of things, there really didn’t seem to be another way, “Help me how.”

Viktor brightened up at Yuuri’s cautious query, the uncertainty seeming to fall from his shoulders as he stood, extending a hand for Yuuri to grab. Pulling him up to his feet, Viktor gave the anxious man a quick smile before he explained. “Well,” he said and moved to stand beside Yuuri before sweeping a hand through the air.

Yuuri let out a silent gasp as a line of iridescent light popped into existence where Viktor traced them. The demon grinned at Yuuri’s obvious wonder and continued in a confident tone, “There’s a contract between the one who summons and the summoned,” the outlines of two figures appeared in the air before them, one tall and radiant with power, the other small with blurred edges. Yuuri didn’t bother asking who was who. “The one who summons has three wishes which the summoned must grant. At the end of it all, the summoned may name their price,” Viktor made a sweeping gesture towards the floating figures and Yuuri watched as one glowed brilliant white before vanishing, while the other flickered out of existence. He felt a sudden sense of foreboding and he gulped as it all became very real. “This price,” Viktor gave a nod of acknowledgement, “Does it involve my soul?”

There was a pregnant pause before Viktor was bent double quaking with laughter for the second time that evening. “Your soul,” he choked out when he had breathe to spare, “How very archaic of you.” Yuuri felt blood rush to his cheeks as he looked very deliberately away from the shaking man. Viktor finally calmed down and wiped a stray tear from his eye as he said: “No, I’ll decide at the end, whatever strikes my fancy,” the he paused before continuing with a dangerous glint to his eyes, “Though it might be your soul.” Yuuri could see once again in the dim morning light, the hazy red outline surrounding the creature and he reminded himself as the blood chilled in his veins, that this creature was dangerous. With this in mind, Yuuri stood straighter and steeled himself before saying with a determined note to his voice: “Fine, fix my leg.”

The demon smirked and cracked his knuckles. “Done,” and suddenly Yuuri’s leg felt very hot and then cold and then all at once Yuuri realised, it was healed. “Amazing,” he murmured, before looking up at Viktor in wonder, “Thank you.”

The Japanese skater was too preoccupied with his now healed leg to notice, but at his thoughtless words, the demon’s eyes glistened with a feeling he couldn’t quite explain. A curious, “You’re welcome,” was spoken into the quiet of the room. The air in the room thereafter was heavy with awe and uncertainty. Viktor broke the silence viciously with a question, “Your next wish?” he asked with a confident smile. Yuuri paused and took a breath. He knew what anyone else would ask for, it was obvious really, but those words would not come out, stuck behind his lips, his mouth unable to form the request. 

“I know what you should ask for Katsuki Yuuri, sixth place in last year’s Grand Prix,” Viktor was looking at Yuuri with an oddly hopeful glint in his eye, “The only question is, do you dare?”  
Yuuri had had enough time and enough of being mediocre, he knew wanted he wanted, no, what he _needed_.

“Be my coach, Viktor.”


	4. Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting more in Viktor's history here so the story will make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry this took so long to update, I've been working for the past month and literally just spending all my free time sleeping. Hope you like the new chapter and as always constructive criticism is gold.

Viktor had been around for longer than he cared to remember, though if he put some thought into it he could recall blinking into existence in Russia, towards the end of the 19th century. He was never born, as such. Never had a family or grew in a home. There was no one there to mark the beginning of his being with a smile or a promise of eternal familial love. He was simply not here one moment and very much here the next.

He doesn’t remember being taught his trade either. That came to him as naturally as breathing and it was a talent he was equally enthused by. To spend your days tricking fools out of their riches. To sit with drunken strangers and listen with a sharp pang in your heart and they told you of how lonely, how _used,_ they felt. What could they know of loneliness, Viktor thought bitterly as his tore a soul from an unwitting fools body, they who can look to any stranger they fancy and make them their own, who choose to leave their partners for the sake of a stranger’s more flattering arms. Those were the clients he hated the most, for at least the greedy were honest. They didn’t hide their selfish wishes behind a mask of a victim.             

His first client was a lady who wore her greed like a badge of honor. A lady with flat black eyes that reminded him of a scarab beetle. She approached him in an alley, having heard from a stranger of a man who wasn’t quite a man, who could grant you your wildest desire. She had looked up at him, her hair, gray from age, tossed over her shoulder, and demanded wealth she’d neither the motivation nor time to attain. Viktor remembered smiling at the woman after she quirked a slender brow in his direction, wishing for affirmation that her wish had in fact been granted. “Go home,” he told her, and though there was no conceivable way for him to tell, he fancied that the shriek he heard shatter the silence of the night came from the overjoyed woman and her newfound wealth.

She came back in a week, wearing clothes that were nice but expensive in the kind of way that meant their owner wanted you to know that they were costly. Her silk gown clung to her frame that was skinny and shrivelled from time, but was mostly obscured by the large overcoat that she was drawing closer to her body as her apparel attracted stares. She sat before him in a cafe, with her shoulders drawn back and her chin angled towards the sky, a fire in her eyes that was withering, near extinguished by the moisture that was pooling above her lower eyelids. The woman moved her hands towards her face and placed them tightly under her ears, before moving them to drag her skin back from her face, in an obvious attempt to smoothen out her wrinkled skin. It served only to draw up the image in Viktor’s mind, of a plastic bag that had been crushed in someone’s fist and flattened out again by clumsy hands.

“Make me beautiful” she tried to demand and she did once before, but instead it came out as a strangled whisper, “Make me young.”

Viktor smiled pityingly at the woman and told her to go to the restroom, snapping his fingers as the door swung shut. Moments later, a woman with hair so blonde it appeared invisible in the late afternoon sun stepped out, holding a shabby overcoat between two slim fingers, as though it were poisonous. She allowed her coat to fall to the floor to meet the jaws of the cafe’s inhabitants. Lips thinned out into a triumphant smile as she left, all eyes following her elegant form. The only thing that remained unchanged were those eyes, Viktor noted with careless curiosity. Still as black and dull as a beetle he’d once crushed under the sole of his shoe for trying to bite him. He wondered, as he took a sip from a near empty cup, if her fate was to be the same.

Viktor saw nothing of the woman for years, heard nothing but stories from strangers in the street who spoke of the millionaire who’d made more on the stock market then there were cobblestones in a street. He’s sure they said a name but time and a lack of interest robbed him of that knowledge. He had better things to do, and more clients to see, besides what could the woman who has everything possibly want?

The stock market crashed a month later, and the woman showed up banging on his door. Tears streaking black down an aging face, she was not the proud woman who’d left the cafe and a miserable life behind. She was on her knees begging him for the impossible, _“stop time, for me please, just make it stop,”_  he responded to her request with a sardonic smile as he explained that there were some things that just could not be wished for, and pulled a shabby overcoat from the back of his door and threw it over the trembling woman. She howled as it fell and obscured her from his vision and threw it violently from her, a button from the coat smacking into the wall and chipping off a piece of the plaster. Viktor narrowed his eyes at her actions and made to close the door, only for her to suddenly surge forward, her face so close to his that, if he wanted, he could have kissed away her tears. He bet they’d have tasted of desperation.

“You have to grant my last wish,” her black eyes were darting over his face untouched by time, “I want it. I want what you have, your power, _give it to me_.”

He killed her where she stood.

The woman who had stood hunched in an alley begging for riches, who’d stood tall and beautiful in a cafe fell to the floor with a soft _thunk_ , single slim stream of blood falling from her mouth, two trails from her open eyes. He bent down and carried her to the big bins outside, wanting to ensure her final resting place was fitting for a woman such as she. He turned and left her body lying among rats and rotting food, and as he moved to go back inside he saw an earring lying on the footpath, it’s black jewel shining dully in a way that was so, so familiar.

It made a satisfying crunch under his boot.

Viktor’s days passed in a seemingly, no actually _endless_ haze of desperate men and women begging for what they didn’t deserve, and as the year 1970 drew to a close, he realised with a sense of growing horror that that was it. His purpose in life was to serve and there was no one who could understand how that felt. Not the men and women he served, not the strangers he occasionally took to his bed. That cold realisation left him more scared than any threat to his life.                                                    

On one the days when Viktor could find no one in need of his services he found himself wandering around the streets of Moscow, drawing his coat tight around his body as the winter wind attempted to tug it away. His inhuman hearing picked up on a piece of classical music being bowed upon the strings of a violin and a soft scraping sound at different intervals. Curiosity took him by the hand and led him to the source of the sounds, a relatively new stone building, helped him push open the doors and wander down the deserted corridor until he came to a door with a small window that lead to an ice rink, where a lone figure stood, a violin in hand. Short haired and lean, he stood tall as he drew the bow back and forth across the strings, a delicate melody filling the room as he did so. Viktor pushed open the door silently, not out of consideration for the musician’s peace but more out of a desire to continue to observe the man without any interruptions, including himself. Viktor watched the man as he swayed slightly in tandem with the melody, and was enraptured for a moment before he heard that soft scraping and then a crash that pulled his gaze towards the rink. His mouth fell open as a wonder filled his sight.

A women was gliding around the ice, her legs slightly parted, head thrown back as she moved in time to the music. The fascination that Viktor felt at the sight of the man and his melody was nothing compared to the feeling of near reverence that overtook him as the women threw herself into a flip, landing gracefully on one leg. Viktor barely noticed the room falling silent as the song drew to a close, all he could see was the women and the way she moved. He could have watched for days, he wanted to watch for _years_ , but the music had stopped and now she was holding her arms over her eyes, her back arched and one foot behind the other. Viktor ran from the room as she called out to the musician, another song being demanded in harsh Russian, as the door swung shut behind Viktor. His feet were pounding on the cheap carpet, and then on the ground outside, continuous until Viktor found a bench far enough away for his heart to stop banging against the walls of his chest. In that moment Viktor felt more alive than he had ever felt in his decades of existing. His heart seemed to have grown fists in the moments between his stolen glances at the skater and where he was hunched now over a public bench, and it wanted _out_. Viktor felt his breathing grow shorter still and he placed a shaking hand atop his chest, as if to stop his unruly heart from escaping. Moments passed and Viktor watched his breath form swirling patterns in the air while his heart slowly stopped its desperate pounding and resigned itself to an almost sulky steadier beat. The only token Viktor had left to remember that moment by was an ache that stretched snake like around his heart and pulled a delirious grin to unpractised lips. He stretched the fingers of the palm that rested on his chest and wondered with a mixture of awe and fear crossing his face, what was that?

A sudden stuttering sound broke the silence of the night and Viktor looked up to see a couple bathed in the yellow light of a streetlamp. The woman’s head was tilted in an attempt to allow her eyes, crinkled at the corners from mirth, to meet her partner’s. They stood in silence for a moment and Viktor watched in bemusement, wondering what could possibly be so fascinating. Neither of them could have been called spectacular, with regard to appearance, both being relatively chubby and shorter than average, sporting matching blandly chestnut brown hair. Still their gazes remained locked on each other as though the secret to eternal happiness lay in their eyes. Then the woman broke the silence with that same stuttering sound, a pig like snort that she tried and failed to cover up with the sleeve of her coat, before staggering off away from her partner, who continued to stare as before, his hand laying on his chest in the same way Viktor’s was before following the woman at a sudden run, like their two hearts were connected by string and to be too far would be to tear his from his chest.

Viktor looked down to where his hand lay still splayed on his chest and he thought of the woman from the rink and the intricate patterns she formed with her body and had to choke back a gasp as that same feeling came flooding back, watered down albeit, but there and rushing through his being. He didn’t understand, what was it that captured him? Usually when he took someone to his bed it was because something had drawn him to them, twinkling eyes that peaked his curiosity, full lips that made his blood heat in his veins. Viktor stood tall as the ache in his chest slowly dulled. What did it matter what it was, or whether or not he could remember the woman’s face, for it was there, hiding behind a door and hunched over a bench that he had felt the smile that blossomed on his lips, for the first time felt like there was more to his heart then to pump blood around his body and keep him breathing.

Whatever it was, that woman was involved.

Whatever it was, he would find out.


	5. Realisation

 

Viktor came back to the ice rink the following day, armed with ice skates and determination to find the source of the floating feeling in his chest that hadn’t moved since it arrived on his panicked flight from rink yesterday evening. The air wasn’t as cold as it had been the previous night but still brushed Viktor’s cheeks like it had teeth, leaving red stripes high on his cheekbones. Squinting against the early morning sun, Viktor raised a hand to cover his eyes and looked at the stone building, daunting in its size, a fact he was made ignorant of as the shadows of the evening had shrouded most of the buildings bulk. He gulped. The hand that was used to shield his eyes from the sun was moved to press against the glass pane at the front doors and it stayed there, for many moments while Viktor pondered, _what was he doing?_ The momentary break from monotony had come so fast and sudden and he was left wondering even still, with the remnants of _something_ lifting his heart to lodge in his throat, was it real. His gaze fell from the reddened palm he’d placed against the door to his shoes, which were brown and quite unremarkable in their appearance, if he were to be honest, but they were good for one thing, and that was running. Viktor had had several years to spend honing his skill and one thing he’d learned to excel at was running. Survival is ingrained into us all and the only natural response to fear is to fly.

The shoes were scuffed at their corners with a part of the sole was peeling off and Viktor remembered with a slow whistling exhalation of breath, how they’d come to be that way. A man, almost as cold and detached as he, came screaming down the streets of Italy after he’d saved the life of their eldest child, dying of pneumonia, in exchange for their youngest. He couldn’t quite remember why he’d done that, only that moments before he tore the life from her body that she’d shown him a doll, a pair of dolls actually, and had asked him in that unabashedly honest way that children do, why didn’t he have “ _anyone at home for him,”_ and _“did no one love him.”_   He recalled a feeling that humans call rage as he killed her, and was astonished by the power it had had over him, so astonished that he’d almost had no time to think about the grieving man who’d thrown a kitchen knife at his shoe, snuffing out his life as though he were nothing but an insect, a pest.

He’d brought them back, after an hour or two of reflection, in different bodies of course, the man became a squalling infant being handed to a couple by a surprised and relieved nurse who’d been moments from calling a stillbirth, and the girl, with her wise dark eyes and inquisitiveness, became an owl, a hunter, a suitable apology for having her life wiped out by a monster.

The onslaught of memories brought forward another wave of unfamiliarity, however this wave was one that dragged, held his heart in a vice-grip and brought it down to rest in his stomach, where something sour was curdling. Viktor was left reeling in the aftermath, nothing to do but to wait until it passed. Pulling his head up to face the door, he began to wonder if that fleeting moment of last night was worth the trouble, if it came with such disagreeable company. His body decided before his mind, and was pushing through the door before eventually, his thoughts caught up whispering words of warning edged with a note of something Viktor had to fight to keep control of.

Music was trickling out through the gap in the same door, but this time the melody was slow and sweet, long cascading notes that filled the air with a sense of calm. The doors squeaked as Viktor pushed through them and the gentle music stopped. The violinist’s bow jumped against the strings and effectively broke the calm with a screech. Viktor felt himself heat up, strangely enough considering the destination, and his skin felt like it was being pricked by dozens of needles as he looked out into the ice rink and into the woman’s indignant expression.

“What do you think you’re doing here,” her voice was low and coarse, jarring quite spectacularly with her delicate form and features. Viktor felt his mouth open and close because really, what was he doing here?

“I-“ he began, unsure of what to ask, almost afraid of an answer.  The woman continued to stare with no pity for the stuttering mess before her, dark blue eyes piercing into the subject of her annoyance. She took a breath and paused before speaking to the room more than to the one before her, “If you’re not going to give me an answer you can just leave,” she turned and assumed a pose, her back to Viktor and her arms to the sky, remaining still for a moment before turning back to look at him with an expectant glare, “Well.”

Viktor took a breath and looked at her. Her hair was tied into a bun so tight it looked painful, neat save for a few stray tendrils that fell, framing her diamond face. Dark eyes set under arched pale brows that gave her a rather haughty, condescending appearance. Viktor didn’t realise he was staring until her thin pale lips opened and yelled for the violinist to resume his song, and as he turned to go he wondered what it was that captured him in the first place. She was attractive but very blandly so.  A daisy masquerading as an orchid. His feet felt heavy but no more so than his heart, the weight of it making him ache with the desire to dig down through his skin and cast it from his chest. It was pointless, the whole bloody thing. That feeling, whatever it was, was a fluke. Clearly monsters like him weren’t meant to feel joy.

He pushed open the door with an energy that surprised his grieving mind and in doing so the clasp of his watch tore open. The watch fell to the floor and Viktor cursed as he moved to pick the piece up, scowling at the cracked face. It was then as it held it up against the light that he caught the woman reflected in the shattered piece of glass. And then it _clicked_.

The woman was coming down from a jump when he turned, falling to one knee with her arms spread wide as the music began to slow. As the tempo picked up she rose, and moved her feet in tandem with the melody. Viktor’s breathe caught in his throat as she turned and threw herself into the air, poised and the picture of elegance. She came down to the ice with a sharp scratching sounds as her skates grated against the ice and it was then that Viktor knew.

It was never her.

It was the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright bye for now-I'm hungry


End file.
